


For the last time, pie is NOT cake!

by millygal



Series: HC_BINGO [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Food Kink, Food Porn, Food Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 07:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: If this is the only way Dean will eat the damned cake, Sam's not above a little sneaky behaviour.





	For the last time, pie is NOT cake!

**Author's Note:**

> Second of my hc_bingo prompt fills. The heat must still have been frying my brain because yet more grammatical awfulness, lol. Thanks jj1564 for all the hard work and beta <3 Sequel to Lethal fucking Weapon has a lot to answer for!

“Pie, Sammy, PIE! How difficult is that to remember? Especially when a guy’s stuck on his ass and can’t go get his own damned supplies!”

Sam rolls his eyes and tries not to bite Dean’s head off, despite the surface of the sun heat in the Bunker and his brother’s constant whining, Sam’s refusing to rise to the bait. “Dean, I understand you’re in some serious pain and bored off your fucking ass, but it’s not my fault the local store didn’t have **pie**. Eat the damned cake or don’t, but stop pissing and whining.”

Dean knows he’s been a complete dick the last few weeks, but the low-level frustration he’s been feeling whilst stuck in the Bunker is only adding to the fidgety feeling the summer heat is creating, and he can’t seem to control the things coming out of his mouth.

He can hear himself, he can see Sam’s eye rolls and grinding teeth, and still he keeps needling. “I **want** pie!”

Sam blows out a slow calming breath and leans his hands flat against the back of the couch Dean’s sprawled on. Bending down, pressing his nose right into his brother’s face, Sam raises an eyebrow and hisses. “I **want** Jamie Dornan’s phone number and a mint condition ‘69 Chevy Nova for my next Christmas present, we don’t all get what we WANT! Eat the DAMNED CAKE!”

Dean can feel Sam’s anger rolling off him in waves. The heat in the Bunker mingles with the blazing fury in Sam’s eyes and it forces Dean to do the only thing he can think that might let off a little steam, for both of them.

Sam’s taken by surprise as Dean reaches up and locks his hands behind his neck, and pulls him over the back of the couch.

Sam lands awkward and heavy, and is fully aware he’s probably crushing Dean’s slowly healing leg, but the tongue being forced down his throat makes all thoughts of comfort and gentleness flee his mind.

Dean huffs a pained breath into Sam’s open mouth but doesn’t try to move him. The weight is welcome, it adds a little gravity to the oppressive heat that’s been beating down on him for the last three days, and it’s all Dean can do not to rip a hole in the front of Sam’s jeans.

Fingers coated in a fine sheen of sweat, Dean fumbles for Sam’s fly only to have the object of his obsession removed as Sam sits up, pulls away from Dean’s death grip.

“Dude! Stop!”

The level of pout in Dean’s voice ratchets up as he frowns and makes a _grabby hands_ motion towards Sam’s crotch. “Gimme! Mine!”

Sam’s not above admitting a good old fashioned fuck wouldn’t solve a lot of the _bugs under the skin_ feelings they’re both having, but Dean’s leg is only just knitting back together and there’s no way he’s risking **another** three weeks of bitching and complaining from his brother after the doctors have to re-snap and shape the bones. “No. Behave. You’re barely able to - _oomph_.”

Dean doesn’t like being told no at the best of times, but when he’s practically crawling out of his skin and fed the fuck up of everything and everyone, it’s a serious impossibility to get him to listen.

Dean lunges forward and manages to get a hold of Sam’s fly and wrenches it open, revealing the tip of a half hard pretty pink cock, weeping and begging to be licked. “Sammy, I didn’t get my pie, I want _this_.”

Sam’s doing everything in his power not to moan like a lubed up porn star, but as Dean says _this_ , he forces his fingers inside Sam’s jeans and cups his tightening balls before squeezing none too gently. “P - P - Play fair, Dean.”

Dean’s not remotely sorry when Sam throws his head back and groans loudly, but his brother’s still got all his working in-one-piece legs and finally manages to hop off the couch and away from Dean’s torturous attentions. “Meany.”

Sam tucks himself away and zips himself up before turning and retrieving the now mangled cake from the end of the couch. “Eat the cake, we’ll talk.”

Dean’s sulks and crosses his arms over his chest. “No.”

“No?”

“No!”

Sam sits on the coffee table opposite the couch and smirks at Dean’s petulant child routine. “Fine. I’ll eat it.”

Sam peels away the crumpled plastic lid and digs two fingers into the mess of ruined frosting before bringing them to his lips and sucking them into his mouth. “Mmmm, that’s pretty fucking good, Dean. Sure you don’t want some?”

Dean’s trying so very fucking hard not to let his mouth drop open in an ‘O’ of interest and want, but the image of Sammy licking his fingers clean of rich dark chocolate frosting is doing fabulous things to his insides, let alone his dick which is now trying to make a break for freedom through the cotton of his cut off jogging bottoms. “Dude!”

Sam knows he’s winning the second he hears Dean’s voice crack. Resting his elbows on his knees, Sam digs the same two fingers back into the centre of the cake, coming away covered in soft sponge and buttercream, before offering them to his brother.

Dean’s mouth opens and his tongue snakes out without fully realising what he’s doing, and it’s only as his lips close over Sam’s knuckles and his tongue begins to lap at the delicious cake mix smeared all over them, that the older man knows he’s lost this battle.

The war, however, is still up for grabs when he begins to hum around Sam’s fingers and suck as hard as he can.

Sam’s eyes darken, his pupils receding to pin pricks, as he watches Dean clean his fingers of every last trace of frosting. Too late he understands what it is he’s done, and knows there’s no fucking chance of outlasting Dean. Not when he’s utilising that wicked tongue of his and groaning low and long. “ _Dean_.”

“Hmmmm?”

The cheeky bastard doesn’t even bother looking at Sam, just tilts his head and continues to lave the fingers still captured in his mouth.

“ **Dean!** ”

Dean reaches for Sam’s knees, pulling his ass almost all the way off the table he’s perched on, and fiddles with the only recently zipped up fly.

Sam says nothing, simply pushes his legs further apart.

Finally letting Sam’s fingers drop from his mouth, Dean snatches the cake out of his brother’s hand and scoops a palm full off the top.

Nodding at Sam, Dean waits for him to pull his cock from his pants before wrapping his frosting coated fingers around it.

Sam’s all but lost the ability to speak. The feel of Dean’s warm hand, coupled with the smooth sticky slide of frosting coating his dick, has pretty much finished him the hell off. It’s only the wetness of Dean’s tongue that brings him back to himself and he can’t help flicking his hips when Dean sucks him all the way to the back of his throat. “Holy FUCK!”

Dean continues to suck and lick Sam’s cock until it’s completely clean of any of the sickly sweet cake, and so it continues.

Every time Sam’s cock is clean, Dean scoops another handful of cake into his palm and thoroughly paints Sam’s twitching flesh until the younger man thinks he might start begging in every language he can remember. “Dean, please, can I?”

Dean chuckles around Sam’s dick, still resting heavy between his lips, and nods.

Sam winds his fingers into Dean’s short, spiky hair and fucks his mouth. Fucks it so hard there’s cake crumbs and frosting smears being spread across his face and down his chin. “FUCK!”

Sam’s come mixes in beautifully with the leftover taste of sweetness still lingering at the back of Dean’s throat, and it only takes a few hard and fast rubs of Sam’s palm against the bulge in his jogging bottoms for Dean to feel his own release adhering cotton to skin.

Sam’s softening shaft slips from between Dean’s lips and he huffs a breath, trying to get some kind of balance back, which is when Dean decides to crow about his victory.

“Turns out cake is _almost_ as good as pie, with a few added extras, huh?”

 

 

Fin


End file.
